


take the streets if you wanna

by spikenard



Series: you know you're still number one [1]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ambiguous Relationships, F/F, Jealousy, Praise Kink, Spanking, Unrequited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:38:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6108192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikenard/pseuds/spikenard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Well, Burr thinks. That certainly explains a lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	take the streets if you wanna

**Author's Note:**

> ham/burr #2: things you said through your teeth + ham/wash #5: things you didn’t say at all.
> 
> A tumblr request that kind of. spiraled. 
> 
> Look, I was going to try and write serious fic for these prompts, but instead what came out of my keyboard is this nonsense PWP where everyone is girls & Wash is a #uowipoa (unavailable older woman in a position of authority), because I’m awful, and, somehow, in my brain, that was a logical connection 
> 
> Please feel free to envision [Sasha Hutchings as Aaron Burr and Morgan Marcell as Alex Hamilton](https://youtu.be/Tbfws-YZQu4), if you so choose. I personally recommend [Renee as G.Wash](https://youtu.be/6C6I1SpcP7s).
> 
> Thank you to [scioscribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/scioscribe/) for looking it over & helping me out with the ending!

The thing about Hamilton is that she’s absolutely shameless.

It’s not like Burr’s shocked by the mere fact of sex; she has slept with _a lot_ of girls. Maybe not as many as Hamilton has, but still.

At first it was just other preachers’ daughters, girls she met at Bible camp she was _just that close_ with, never more than a few fumbling kisses and maybe a hand pressed up under a skirt; good girls who got curious and giggly and wanted to try it, just once, who maybe wanted to _let_ Burr, again, after, like they were doing her a favor; once or twice girls who could be prevailed upon to return the favor. Nice girls, sweet girls who stayed quiet, during, who maybe let out a few gorgeous little gasps. Girls who blushed all pretty whenever she made eye contact with them, after.

Once she got to college — young and hungry, and she hadn’t quite learned how to keep her head down, still too open and honest — she started meeting girls who _wanted_ to have sex with her, up front; who talked about it. Girls who were _loud_ , who discussed orgasms and demanded them. Girls who talked about everything, who had half a dozen words to describe themselves, who discussed sexuality using words like “biopsychosocial” and who gave Burr disapproving looks when she refused to pick a buzzword to describe herself.

Aaron knows who she is. She doesn’t understand the need to tell anyone else.

Alex seemed like one of those college girls, at first. She was different, obviously, special; but then, they were all different, every girl Burr’s ever slept with.

At first, Burr’s mostly just annoyed with Hamilton. She never shuts up or stops moving, she’s obviously undermedicated, she’s confrontational, and she’s so obviously brilliant — _arrogant_ , Aaron thinks, _pride goeth_ — it would be better to keep away from her, to let her burn herself out in peace.

She is hot, though. And something more than that — compelling.

Not that Hamilton seems aware of that, the way she dresses. Presentable, but nothing more; she wears makeup, but never more than lipstick and eyeliner.

Aaron can’t ever stop staring at her, trying to work out whether she’s using sex as a weapon or whether she’s just that self-confident. Hamilton assumes all eyes will be on her, whether or not they should be, whether or not they _are_.

And she won’t leave Burr alone.

That’s the worst part, really. At first, Burr thought Hamilton was hitting on her, and politely brushed her off, waited for her to crash and burn the way she should have. But Hamilton didn’t — she’s still here, she’s still obnoxious and loud, talks over white boys in class discussions and argues with the TA until she’s red in the face. She writes papers three times the maximum wordcount, cheats with spacing and margins to make them seem shorter than they are. She still asks to grab drinks with Burr every time they run into each other.

Somehow, the department adores her, though. Washington, who has never given Burr more than the time of day even though Burr was her TA for two semesters, adores Hamilton, lets her talk past her designated time in class. Hamilton blossoms under the attention.

Hamilton starts looking more put together. Her lipstick is a nicer shade, her skin clears up a little. She looks like she’s actually taking care of herself. Her clothes are still awful, but they look less rumpled, like maybe she actually hangs them up instead of wearing them straight off the floordrobe.

Once or twice, Burr sits at a table in the library where she can watch Hamilton study, and sees her popping open a script bottle and swallowing something dry.

Burr wonders who she’s trying to impress.

###

And still, the whole time, Hamilton is constantly trying to get Burr’s attention. She waves at Burr whenever she sees her. She buys Burr drinks whenever they’re out, even though Burr is sure she can’t afford it. Hamilton doesn’t double-text; one morning Burr woke up after a night out in which she’d bumped into (and thereafter politely avoided) Hamilton with her friends, to a phone pinging with thirty-four texts from Hamilton, emoji-riddled iMessage treatises enumerating the ways in which Burr both “looked beautiful last night” and needed to “learn how to loosen up && stop going home alone”.

That was the first time they fucked, actually; Burr, hungover and miserable, texted her back telling her to put up or shut up before pushing her phone under the covers to muffle any more text alerts. Five minutes later, Hamilton was banging on her door, demanding to be let in.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t realize you were hungover,” is the first thing out of Hamilton’s mouth when Burr lets her in, which does wonders for Aaron’s self esteem.

“Why are you here,” she says, her tone clipped, watching Hamilton look around her tiny studio. Alex is so _nosy_ , she can’t ever be still for a single goddamn minute.

Hamilton raises her eyebrows at Burr, though. “You’re the one who told me to come over.”

Aaron feels a muscle in her jaw clench. Hamilton is fucking exhausting; Aaron doesn’t understand why now is the time she picks to act coy, or whatever.

“I told you,” Aaron says, “that you should either fuck me or leave me alone.”

“And I’m _here_ ,” Hamilton says, smiling, her eyes half-lidded, leaning in so close that Aaron has to stop breathing so Hamilton won’t get the full brunt of her hungover morning breath. Then Aaron remembers — well, just that it’s Hamilton, and huffs a breath out straight into her face. Hamilton doesn’t flinch, just looks up at Aaron, and blinks like she’s trying to bond with a cat.

“You want me to eat you out? You can just lie back until your hangover goes away or whatever, let me — you don’t even have to do anything. I’ll get you off and leave.”

This is the weirdest sales pitch Aaron’s ever gotten.

“Uh,” she says, caught off-balance and hating herself for it. “Sure. If you want.”

“So take your pants off,” Hamilton says, and pulls her shirt off over her head, drops it on Aaron’s floor. She’s not wearing a bra. “Also, maybe eat a mint, dude, your breath is rank.”

###

Hamilton kisses her anyway, during and then again after, pretty deep and hard despite the fact that Aaron entirely failed to locate a mint. She leaves right after she gets Aaron off a third time (a wet and messy affair smeared out all over Hamilton’s face) and pushes Aaron back into bed, tells her to sleep off the remnants of her hangover.

Aaron really doesn’t feel like she has anything to complain about here.

###

After that, it’s a thing. Not so much through any particular action on Burr’s part, but mostly because Hamilton seems to assume it will be, and Aaron...

Well.

Hamilton is so eager to please. She never expects reciprocation, flinches away the few times Aaron tries to touch her. She doesn’t touch Aaron any more than Aaron tells her to, or lets her; hasn’t suggested they try anything other than their current arrangement. Which is — fine by Aaron.

And they don’t have to — Burr was worried Hamilton would want to be her girlfriend, or something, or might tell her friends.

But Hamilton acts exactly the same around her. Maybe even pulls back a little. She waves, she flirts outrageously, but their relationship is exactly the same as it used to be, only Hamilton is eating her out a couple times a week.

At first, it’s just nights they’re both out drinking and can convincingly slip off together; a couple weeks in, though, Aaron gets a text from Hamilton asking her to please come to the library.

Aaron goes. It takes her forever to find Hamilton, tucked away in a corner on some disused floor, but Hamilton’s look of desperate relief when she catches sight of her is enough to give Aaron pause.

“Thank god you’re here,” Hamilton says. “Get on the desk, I’ll be quick —”

“Oh my god,” Aaron says. “this is a _booty call_. Of course it is. I thought this was — I thought you wanted me to look over your paper!”

“I do,” Hamilton says, confused. “But first I gotta — I need —”

“Hamilton,” Aaron says, patiently, “literally _anyone_ could walk in on us. You could have come to my place.”

“But all my stuff is here,” Alex says, sounding younger than her years. “I just have to — give me ten minutes to clear my head. Ten minutes.”

She looks exhausted, Aaron realizes; her dark circles — always present, but generally caked with makeup — are pronounced.

“Fine,” Aaron hears herself say. “Just — what do you need?”

“Let me get you off,” Hamilton says, and her voice is pleading. It hits Aaron in the gut. “Lemme —”

“Okay,” Aaron says. “But be quick. And don’t use your fingers,” and she carefully watches the way Alex’s face goes slack and blissful as Aaron pulls her pants down and perches on the edge of the desk.

###

Things change after the time in the library. It stops being something that just sort of happens and starts being a — well, a booty call.

At first it’s just Hamilton asking: asking to use her mouth on Aaron, whenever she seems to need it. And that’s... flattering, how urgent Hamilton’s desire always is. But it starts to feel one-sided. Aaron tries to kiss Hamilton a lot — the only kind of touch she’ll tolerate — but it doesn’t feel like enough.

At first, Aaron figures Hamilton’s... damaged, maybe, from how badly she hates to be touched. She doesn’t say anything about it, just files that suspicion away.

It’s not... she’s not sure, though; and Burr puts feelers out, asks around to find out who’s slept with Hamilton, and apparently Hamilton _has_ let people — lots of people — reciprocate in the past, has demanded it.

This is starting to feel like the strangest personal rejection Burr’s ever experienced.

But Hamilton is so _good_ , and so experienced — even though pretty much all they do is oral, Hamilton still inventive, incredible. She does things Aaron thought only happened in porn. She doesn’t make sense. And she’s still, somehow, _bossy_ , all the time.

“need u to come && read over something” is a text Burr gets used to. The library thing happens a lot, there but also elsewhere; Aaron gets used to taking her pants off in public. After a while, she starts wearing the only skirt she owns whenever Hamilton asks to see her; it’s just easier than trying to get back into her cords.

“I need you to take another finger,” Hamilton says, hands slick with the lube she brought with her in her ratty beat-up backpack, pressing a fourth finger in and going back to sucking at Aaron’s clit until she can’t help but cry out.

“I need you to sit on my face,” Hamilton says, and Aaron braces her hands against the headboard as she balances on her knees, at first, until Hamilton’s hands dig into her thighs and pull her down.

“I need,” is all Hamilton ever seems to say, even though she’s almost always got her mouth busy.

Burr can never bring herself to put anything like that; her texts are always polite, oblique: “Can you come by?” or “Are you planning to go out tonight?”

She rarely says anything when they’re together. Just “yes.”

###

So Burr figures that Alex is getting hers elsewhere, or something; that’s fine.

It’s totally fine.

Burr doesn’t have a claim on her; it makes sense that Hamilton would do... whatever this is with Burr, and have someone else she trusts enough to... Anyway Aaron’s fine with it, she really is.

But she can’t help but push it. She doesn’t know why Hamilton won’t let Burr touch her, whether it’s — trauma (possible, though at this point Burr considers it unlikely), or whether it’s something personal about Burr (more likely), or whether it’s some rule imposed by the other person — people? — Hamilton’s fucking (the thought of this eats Aaron up inside).

But Hamilton makes Burr feel greedy, makes her want to be able to...

Makes her want things.

###

In the end, it takes basically nothing to get Hamilton to break. The girl has no self control, and Burr is nothing if not observant.

Aaron calls her over, gets Alex into her bed and out of her shirt. Once they’re kissing, Aaron runs her fingernails up the seam of Alex’s jeans and breathes out, “good girl,” and that’s all it takes; Hamilton is shaking apart under her.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Alex groans, and when Burr, surprised, says, “That was easier than I expected,” Alex twists back in on herself, clenches her jaw and shudders again.

So.... okay, then.

###

Hamilton doesn’t demand anything for herself, not the way she bosses Aaron into taking her clothes off.

At first, after the first couple times Aaron just touches Hamilton over her clothes and praises her until she shudders all over, Aaron thinks it’s because Hamilton is shy, or something. Aaron does reading, things she thinks Hamilton might like, wants to coax her out of her shell.

But all of it is useless. Hamilton starts _offering_.

“Do you have a strap-on?” she asks while kicking her jeans off, “Because I have been craving a _dicking_ —”

Burr doesn’t, but she fucks Hamilton on her fingers — three at first, then four when Hamilton begs for more — until her wrist starts to ache. Hamilton comes, noisily, four times; after, she says, “next time you can fuck me with your fist, if you want,” before falling asleep in Burr’s bed.

She’s just like that. Hamilton won’t ask for anything — she begs, in bed, prettily, but it’s obviously a learned habit, just a way to get what she wants. When Hamilton really wants something, she offers, casually, or she provokes.

Hamilton mouths off at Burr in bed until Aaron, furious, smacks the inside of her thigh with a flat palm, hisses _enough_ and starts to pull back. Then Alex smiles at her, guileless, and says, “maybe you should gag me” and “you could hit me again” and “you could hit me _there._ ”

And Burr does; Burr gives Hamilton whatever she wants.

She pushes Alex’s underwear into her mouth, tells her to hit the headboard if she wants Aaron to stop; she cracks her palm over Hamilton’s inner thighs until they’re red and sore and Hamilton can’t walk without wincing for a week.

She even spreads Hamilton’s legs and smacks her pretty pink cunt, presses her palm against the hot wet slick of her on every stroke, until Hamilton cries and orders her to keep going, grinds her clit against the meat of Aaron’s thumb and comes all over Aaron’s fingers.

Hamilton makes Burr feel like she’s choking, like there isn’t enough air in the world. Hamilton goes directly to Burr’s head, makes her feel powerful and out of control. Aaron’s not sure she likes the feeling, but she’s never going to stop.

###

Things continue like that indefinitely. Burr gets even better at reading Hamilton’s moods — she’s liable to need to get on her knees whenever she has a major assignment due, she gets worked up and needs to be taken down whenever she goes too long without something big to throw herself into.

There are other times, though, that Burr can’t quite figure out, times when Hamilton invites herself over and then just wants to kiss, maybe grind off against Aaron’s thigh and then rub at her clit until Aaron comes, too. They normally stay clothed for that; Aaron would have figured it just for a strange expression of Hamilton’s erratic nature, a rare moment of sweetness.

One time, though, it’s miserable out; raining with ridiculous wind, and Hamilton doesn’t own an umbrella; she gets to Burr’s and she’s drenched. Her hair’s wet enough to drip; the bottom six inches of her pants are covered in city dirt and puddle water.

“Jesus Christ,” Aaron says, sitting up and hopping out of bed, groping around for a towel Hamilton can wrap her hair in. “Get those clothes off before you get into bed. I’ll loan you something to wear”

Hamilton does, with quick, spare movements — she drops her backpack by the door and toes her boots off, drops her wet sweatshirt on Aaron’s desk chair (ugh, brat). Her t-shirt is clinging to her skin, soaked through and clammy just to look at. She strips the shirt off, too, and her ratty white sports bra.

Aaron’s going through her drawers trying to find that baggy old debate shirt from high school, but she glances over when Hamilton starts unbuttoning her jeans. Hamilton slides them off, and she was going commando. She’s naked, standing barefoot and unashamed. Aaron lets herself stare for a minute.

“Hurry it up,” Alex says, but she sounds tired. There’s no bite in her voice. “I’m freezing.”

“Here,” Aaron says, finally, throwing sweatpants and a shirt at Hamilton.

Hamilton turns around to put them on — probably just force of habit, it’s not like she’s got anything Aaron hasn’t seen before.

But that’s when Aaron sees — Hamilton’s ass looks wrecked. It’s bright red, looks fresh; there are bruises coming up on her sit spots.  

Those weren’t there when Aaron saw her last night. And Aaron's never hit her there, in any case.

“What the fuck,” Burr says.

Alex sighs, glances over her shoulder. She’s balancing unsteadily on one foot and wincing as she has to stretch her glutes, getting one foot into the sweatpants.

“Can we just. Not? Can we please not fucking do this now,” Alex says, and manages to pull the sweatpants up over her hips. She’s still topless as she turns to face Aaron properly, puts her hands on her hips. Her breasts are... very distracting.

“You just had that done, didn’t you,” Burr spits out. She’d always assumed Hamilton was seeing other people, but to have it confirmed like this is unexpectedly awful. Aaron’s not even sure why. She knew this was coming.

Hamilton avoids eye contact, which is answer enough.

“I’m not going to do someone else’s aftercare,” Burr says, finally; she wants it to hurt. She can’t think of anything mean to say.

Hamilton looks exhausted, resigned. She expected this, Burr realizes; she hates that, hates that Hamilton thinks she’s predictable. And anyway, Aaron imagines Hamilton trudging back to her own shitty double, curling up alone — Burr can’t do that to her. Or worse, what if she goes to someone else for comfort? That’s — Aaron _can’t_ let that happen.

“Not unless you tell me who it is.”

Hamilton looks up at her and barks out a laugh. “Yeah,” she says, “that’ll go over well.”

“You can trust me,” Burr says. “What am I going to do? Obviously, I can’t stop you from doing whatever you want. Just tell me. And get under the covers before you catch your death.”

Hamilton does climb into bed, rolls onto her stomach and presses her arm against the wall.

Burr climbs up after her, puts her hand on Hamilton’s back, rubs it down her spine. She taps her fingernails against Alex’s tailbone. A couple red marks are sticking out past the edge of her sweatpants. Burr digs the side of her nail in, there, waits until she hears Alex’s soft gasp.

“You’re... I mean,” Aaron says, suddenly awkward. “You’re okay, right?” and touches Hamilton’s ass, lightly.

“I’m fine,” Hamilton snaps, rolling so she can glare up at Aaron. “I like this shit, remember?”

Aaron rests her hand more firmly on Hamilton’s ass, at that. Presses her hand down, hard, just some heavy pressure against the sore spots.

Hamilton hisses, though, and doesn’t back down. Even when Aaron squeezes, digs her fingers into the meat of Hamilton’s ass and her nails into the bruises, and Hamilton’s eyes flutter shut.

“Who did this to you,” Aaron asks again, her tone flat. She has to know. If it was one of Hamilton’s friends — well, they’d probably take care of her after, wouldn’t they; Aaron’s struggling to think of people who’d do this with Alex but not — maybe Jefferson? Alex hates him, though that might not be much of a deterrent, sexually; Burr really doesn’t understand Hamilton’s id.

Hamilton makes a garbled noise into Aaron’s pillow, and she moves her hand. Lets up on the pressure. “What was that?” Aaron asks.

Hamilton turns her head to the side. “Washington,” she grits out. “It was Washington, please, don’t stop —”

Well, Burr thinks. That certainly explains a lot.

She puts her hand back on Hamilton's ass, though, hooks two fingers into the band of her sweatpants and tugs them down around Hamilton's thighs, rubs her hand over the skin until Hamilton whimpers. Alex’s ass is so hot under Aaron's hand that she wouldn't be surprised to find it glowing.

The blankets are still pulled up over Hamilton, letting her warm up a little bit; Aaron pulls away, leaves Hamilton tucked in. She goes over to her shower caddy, gets out a container of lotion, and climbs back into bed before Hamilton can do more than let out a complaining _hey_.

Aaron has to wash her sheets soon anyway, she thinks to herself as she thumps on the bottle. Once a glop of lotion’s on her hands, Aaron spreads it around her palms a little and reaches another hand under the covers to work it into Hamilton's ass. She must be sore, that's all.

It's a crappy angle, though, and Aaron ends up straddling Alex, the blankets pulled down around their knees, Hamilton's thighs still all trapped by Aaron's sweatpants and pinned down under her, the expanse of her skin spread out. It's nice.

Aaron works lotion into the marks on Hamilton's ass, digs her thumbs into the bruises just at the top of Hamilton's thighs just to get some noises out of her.

She gets distracted, after a while, trying to work the stress out of Alex’s back. The girl is stiff as a board; Aaron is pretty sure she tried to massage the tension out of a bone at one point, she couldn't tell what was muscle and what wasn't. She's not very good at that, though, apparently; her efforts leave Hamilton whimpering and tensing up under her hands.

Anyway, Aaron thinks, reapplying lotion so she can work more into Hamilton's ass. Anyway.

She wonders how this happened. Washington is generally inscrutable, but she's obviously fond of Hamilton. If this has been going on for a while they must have been really careful; this is the first time Aaron's noticed marks on Hamilton, and Aaron's been looking. If this is the first time, Aaron has no idea what could have inspired such an extreme reaction from Washington. Well, she does, because Hamilton inspires her to stupid extremes, too. But Aaron has no idea how to ask, and just goes back to rubbing her hands over Alex's bruises.

She leans down to press a kiss against Hamilton's shoulder, feeling suddenly and unaccountably fond. Alex has got her face turned to the side, mashed into Aaron's pillow; her eyes are closed. She lets out a contented hum.

“C’n you...” Hamilton slurs out, and opens her eyes. Aaron leans forward, rests her weight on an elbow and hovers over her.

“Can I what?” Aaron asks.

“Want your fingers,” Alex says. “Please.”

“Okay,” Aaron says, and kisses her on the lips, a sweet little promise, and then sits back on her heels.

Hamilton's tried to spread her legs, but she can't spread them too far, and that's. Nice. Hamilton trapped in her clothes.

Aaron slides her fingers back up Alex's thighs, teases at her lips a little, spreading them but not quite pushing in.

Hamilton's wet, but then she's always wet. She's so responsive. Aaron's fingers slide right in, and Alex feels so good, warm and slippery and soft against Aaron's fingers.

But Hamilton is frowning, chewing resolutely on the inside of her cheek, her eyes squeezed shut.

“No?” Aaron asks, and stills her fingers.

“‘S good,” Hamilton admits. “But I meant...”

Hamilton is blushing. Aaron is fascinated.

“What did you mean?” Aaron asks, curling her fingers down, starting to move them again. Hamilton lets out a choked glottal noise and Aaron knows she's found Hamilton's g-spot.

“I meant... I want your fingers. It's good, yeah, do that again — but I, originally, I meant. Not there.”

“Where, then?” Aaron asks, amused. Hamilton's bucking back against her hands already; she's so easy. Gorgeous.

Hamilton presses her face against the pillow. She reaches her hand back, closes it around Burr’s wrist and drags it up, until Aaron’s fingers brush against Hamilton’s asshole. Alex lets go, immediately; she balls her hand up into a fist and tucks it under her chin. Her hips shift, restlessly.

“Oh,” Aaron says. She didn’t — well, okay. She’s not sure why she’s surprised that Hamilton’s into that. Like — of course she is.

Aaron slides her fingers back into Hamilton’s cunt, though, because she knows how to do that, and because she wants to see what Hamilton will do. Hamilton’s quiet, though; she keeps her eyes closed, just lets out little gasping breaths.

“Good girl,” Aaron says, soft and a little jumbled, “look how good you’re being —”

Aaron gets daring, tries rubbing her thumb against Alex’s asshole while she fingers her, just back and forth over the skin.

Alex lets out a little noise. Aaron is desperately smug. She tries pressing her thumb in, just a little, and that’s it; Alex’s cunt flexes and drags against Aaron’s fingers, just like that.

###

After that, though, Aaron can’t stop thinking about Washington. Alex and Washington. She doesn’t ask Hamilton about it again, not after that first confession, but she can’t get the thought out of her head.

She wonders if Washington knows about her. She starts leaving marks on Hamilton whenever she gets the chance. Hickeys Hamilton forgets to cover up with makeup or a scarf, finger-shaped bruises on her hips from the first time they try Aaron’s new strap-on, red handprints on Hamilton’s thighs.

One afternoon, Aaron is stopping by the department to pick up some papers from her advisor. Washington’s office door is open. Burr stands in the hallway, shoving a file folder into her purse before she heads back outside.

“Miss Burr,” Washington says from her desk. Aaron looks up.

“Yes? I mean, can I do something for you?” she says, the flap of her bag still awkwardly pressed open against her stomach.

Washington scrutinizes her, impassive, through the open door. She doesn’t stand up. Her hair is pulled back into a smooth ponytail. Her mouth is flat and red and there’s no warmth in her eyes.

“Nothing,” Washington says. “That’s alright. Never mind,” and she breaks eye contact, goes back to her paperwork.

Aaron stands there, frozen and mortified, for a moment; she finally just shoves the folder into her bag and closes it.

“Actually,” Washington says, without looking up, “would you mind closing my door? There’s a draft.”

Aaron’s cheeks burn. She pulls the door handle towards herself, mutters out a quick “thanks” before pulling it closed and hurrying out of the department building.

It’s petty, but she didn’t let the latch click; if there’s a draft it’ll blow the door back open. She hopes.

God, even her passive-aggression is pathetic.

###

Nothing much changes with Hamilton, though; they’re still seeing each other three or four nights a week. Where does Hamilton even find the time to fuck around with someone else?

Burr asks, eventually, one night when Hamilton said she needed to come over; she’s got a ten page paper due in the morning.

She slides off the edge of her desk and pulls her panties back up. Hamilton flops down on her stomach on the floor before rolling over onto her back. She groans for a second before she sits up and leans against Aaron’s desk and pulls her computer back onto her lap, boots it up. She starts typing almost immediately. Her face is still shiny.

Burr perches across the room on her desk chair to fix her hair in the mirror.

“Are you still sleeping with Washington?” she asks, desperately hoping her voice sounds casual.

Hamilton’s reflection stiffens. Her typing stops.

“I don’t know if you could really call it that,” Alex says, cagey for once. And then: “I keep forgetting you know. But yeah, I guess.”

“I’m not judging you,” Aaron says, because she feels like she needs to say that. She’s not sure if it’s true. “I just don’t understand where you find the time. I mean. I don’t have time for anyone else.”

“I don’t do exclusivity,” Hamilton says, sounding bored, and Aaron can see herself blush. Her insides churn.

“I know that,” Aaron snaps. “I was just asking, that’s all.”

Hamilton shrugs. The room is silent for a few minutes. Aaron wipes her face and starts reapplying her makeup.

“It’s not like...” Hamilton starts, and trails off. “It’s not like you’re making it sound. I don’t see her as often as I see you. It’s just... Sometimes she wants me to help her out. And once or twice, we’ve done, um — the other stuff.”

“What other stuff?” Aaron asks, carefully blending her foundation.

She looks at Hamilton’s reflection in the mirror; she’s scowling. Aaron hides a smile.

“You know,” Hamilton says. “The other stuff. The... _you_ know. The shit I like.”

“Yes,” Aaron says, before reapplying her lipstick, “I know.”

###

After that, Aaron tries not to think about it. Mostly she even succeeds. If she tries to keep Hamilton busier, more nights, and works her harder, keeps marking her up, that’s her business.

But sometimes things slip out.

“She doesn’t take care of you,” Aaron gasps out. Alex is wearing the strap-on, a condom on the dildo, and Aaron’s riding her, holding her down against the pillows. She slides a hand over Alex’s chest to pinch at her nipple.

“What?” Alex says, after a minute, her mouth slack.

“ _Washington_ ,” Aaron says. She can feel herself getting close. “She doesn’t give you what you need, she’s selfish —”

Alex shoves hard against Aaron’s shoulders, leans up to kiss her and bites her lip so hard Aaron tastes copper. Her hand is tangled in Aaron’s hair and she pulls, hard.

“Shut up,” Alex bites out, exhausted and furious. “Don’t talk about her like that, let me up —”

But Aaron couldn’t move off of Alex if she wanted to. Her orgasm hits her like a bullet. It shatters her.

When she comes back to herself, she’s slumped against Hamilton. There’s a hand rubbing at the back of her neck, brushing over the soft hairs there.

“Oh, god,” Aaron says, feeling sick. “I’m so sorry — _ah_ —”

She tries to pull off, but her legs are jelly; she can barely move. She can’t look at Hamilton.

“Hey,” Hamilton says. “It’s fine.” She rocks her hips, pushes the toy in further; Aaron gasps. She’s oversensitive; she clenched down too hard when she came and now she feels sore and open, spread wide for anything Hamilton wants to give her.

Hamilton plants a sloppy kiss on her jaw. “Can you take more?”

Aaron shuts her eyes and presses her face into the curve of Hamilton’s neck. There are tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She still feels sick with jealousy, can’t believe she just got off to that.

But she’ll settle for this. She’ll take Hamilton any way she can get her.

Hamilton rolls them over, pushes Aaron’s leg back and leans all her body weight against her. Their chests stick together and Hamilton keeps having to spit hair out of her mouth.

She kisses Aaron. “I wanna keep going.”

“Yeah,” Aaron says, and licks the blood off her lip. “Yeah, c’mon, baby. Fuck me like a good girl.”

Hamilton moans a little, and laughs, and does.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me here or on [tumblr](http://spikenards.tumblr.com).


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